


O mother of leaves and sweetness

by Singular_Echo



Series: Snapshots [2]
Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, Winter's Tale - Shakespeare
Genre: A Winter's Tale: the original Lifetime movie, Gen, no really it reads like a olde english lifetime drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singular_Echo/pseuds/Singular_Echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time passed in the blink of eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O mother of leaves and sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> Another short for my final project, this time with 'blue' and Hermione from Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale. Leontes was a crazy obsessive piece of shit, but it still was a pretty good play. I even mentioned to my teacher that it kind of read like a Lifetime movie, and she absolutely agreed with me.  
> Title is from "Winter Trees" by Sylvia Plath.

Awareness was slow and creeping, like the slow bleed of blue from the sky.  
Stone could not think, or feel, or move. Stone was harsh, abrasive, difficult to temper. Yet it was being made, recreated in the image of everything it was not.  
Kind. Gentle. Loving.  
Smooth. Soft. Warm.  
It wasn't until her torso was revealed that she became truly aware, her spirit gradually settling in, like waking up from a deep sleep and taking a look around.  
The edges were blurred, and nothing was solid but her form, standing alone in the night.  
Colors were slow to filter back, shades of blue filling out the blurry sights as days and months passed by. Stone had no sense of time, for what use does stone have for measurements when it has always been, has always will be, and always remain.  
As the years passed, and her awareness slowly spread out, she watched the shadows of forms she could barely make out, though her eyes had yet to reclaim a physical form. Leontes, still mad with grief and perceived betrayal. Paulina, just as sad, though less able to show it. Never her son, never her dear Mamillius, who would never grow old under her care.

Her daughter was equally lost to her, lost to the wilds with only the barest hope of the pity of strangers.  
She could only wait, breathless, and watch.  
She waited for years.  
Decades, almost.  
Her form was nearly complete, and sensation was like a whisper on her senses.  
Time passed.


End file.
